


Legacy

by Skylark



Series: HSWC 2014 [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Caretaking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Homestuck Shipping World Cup 2014, Loss of Parent(s), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 09:18:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2462939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skylark/pseuds/Skylark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You sit next to Jake on the steps after the service is over, hunched forward with your elbows on your knees, and listen.</p><p><a href="http://hs-worldcup.dreamwidth.org/18819.html?thread=3816579#cmt3816579">Prompt</a>: <i>"Remember junior year at Jake's grandma's funeral how Dirk didn't leave his side and tried to be Jake's comfort?"</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Legacy

**Author's Note:**

> I'm proud of this one.

“I couldn't do anything,” Jake is saying. “You don't understand, Dirk, you don't, you think you do but—I couldn't—I couldn't _do_ anything.”

You sit next to him on the steps after the service is over, hunched forward with your elbows on your knees, and listen. 

Thoughtlessly, Jake clutches a bouquet of wilting dandelions in one hand. He follows your line of sight and bites his lip, giving them a shake. “They were her favorite,” he says. “' _Be like a dandelion—throw down roots and grow under any circumstances!'_ That's what she always told me.” He tries to laugh but it comes out a hiccup, a soft and terrible sound. “She'd be so angry if she saw me right now. Crying and carrying on like this.

“She would have liked them, I just know it. I wanted to leave them with her before they—” his voice gives out. The ensuing silence is terrible. You take a deep breath, and wait.

Jake doesn't say anything more, though, just sits with his head down, shoulders trembling. You can see his throat working. He yanks his glasses off, but before he can do anything with them you lift them from his fingers and tuck them safely in your pocket.

“I was there at the end, you know,” Jake whispers. “She told me—”

After a pause, you finish the sentence for him. “She said she was proud of you.”

Jake's head lifts and he turns to you, eyes wild and full of tears. His chin crumples, and in the next instant he's reaching for you. You fold your arms around him and press him against your shoulder as he weeps and weeps.

\--

You ask your bro if you can stay with Jake for a while, and he shrugs and says, “Do what you gotta do, little man.”

The funeral has shaken Dave up, too—your family and Jake's were close, always have been. Your aunt Rose and your cousin Roxy have also come into town for the funeral, and the house is crowded. You think one less person won't be missed too much, anyway. Strilondes don't really do mourning in groups.

Jane comes by Jake's house in the afternoon with notes from school, so he doesn't fall too far behind, and stays for a while afterwards. Roxy comes by later too, and the four of you lie on the woven carpet in the living room, quietly watching the game. None of you actually care about baseball, but Jake started watching avidly the moment Jane turned on the TV, and none of you dared to change the channel.

“The pitcher looks pretty good,” Roxy ventures.

“The pitcher sucks,” you say. “Their ace had a bad injury last month, so this is probably the team's last game.”

Jane and Roxy turn to stare incredulously at you, and you shrug. You just keep up with the news on the internet, that's all.

Jake says nothing—just watches. He fishes around in the bowl of popcorn in his lap, and when his hand comes up empty, Jane takes it from him and refills it without comment.

You order Indian food for the four of you. Jane glances at you and you tell her to get some chicken vindaloo, too, because that's what Jake always gets. You sit on the couch with a veritable feast spread out before you on the coffee table, eating and catching up. When Jake starts to cry into his food carton you all gather around him immediately, pulling the naan from his hand and setting his food on the table and stroking his hair, reminding him as strongly as you can that he's not alone.

\--

Jane's curfew is at eleven, and her Dad comes to pick her up.

“He said he could drive me back, too,” Roxy tells you. "Someone has to make sure they're not burning the house down."

You snort at that; both of you know that she's not totally kidding. “Thanks,” you say.

Roxy's eyes are soft as she rests a hand on your shoulder. “Will you be okay?”

“Yeah. If anything happens you're just a few blocks away, anyway.” She still looks worried, so you pull her into a tired hug. “I'll keep an eye on him,” you promise.

“Hell yeah,” she says, patting you on the back before stepping outside. “See you tomorrow.”

The door closes quietly behind her. When you go back into the living room you find Jake watching _Gilligan's Island_ , blank-faced. You think if you weren't here that he'd just watch TV for days.

“Come on, bro,” you say. “Let's go to bed.”

He's not too out of it to brush his teeth or dress himself when you press his toothbrush and pyjamas into his hands, and he doesn't protest when you slip into bed beside him. The house is quiet. You can hear the crickets outside, and see the stars through his bare window—he's never liked curtains or anything that separates him from the great outdoors.

He curls around you without asking and you let him, resting a hand on his thick hair. You can feel his breathing, deliberately deep, deliberately slow.

“Go to sleep,” you whisper to him. “I've got your back.”

He squeezes you a little tighter, and his eyes close.

\--

When you wake the weak light of pre-dawn is filtering through the windows, barely illuminating Jake, who's shucking off his pyjamas as if they're burning him.

“What's up?” you ask, your voice scratchy with sleep. He turns to you and his eyes are wide.

“I can't stay here,” he says. “I have to—”

You slip out of bed and hurry to get dressed as he throws on an old sweatshirt and jogging shorts. The moment he gets his front door open, he's running across the dewy lawn and into the trees behind the development.

You follow him on the narrow animal trails until the small forest gives way to the main road. At first Jake pushes himself, but eventually he settles into a steady jog. You keep pace. The only sound is your harsh syncopated breathing as the sun slowly climbs into the sky before you.

You run for miles, and it's only when you pass the sign that says you're in the next township over that he stops. The two of you are on a bridge over a low creek. Yellow buses pass you, taking bright eyed young teenagers like yourself to school. You figure nobody will notice if you take another day off.

Jake leans against the railing and squints at the water below your feet, breathing a little hard. So are you; running isn't really your thing, you're more a kendo man yourself. You could go for longer, of course, no big deal, but you're glad for the respite.

For a while you listen to the birds chirping and watch the way the water breaks and weaves around the rocks. Then Jake says, “My grandma is dead.”

You don't say anything. He swallows, his eyes sliding shut, and says it again: “My grandma's dead, and I loved her, and she isn't here anymore.”

You rest a hand between his shoulderblades. “Sometimes it's just time for people to go, Jake,” you say quietly.

“I _know_ that!” he snaps, slapping your arm away and stepping back. “For goodness' sakes, Strider, don't you think I know that? I know that she wasn't going to be here forever. I just—I wanted her to see me _graduate,_ ” he cries. “I wanted to make her proud. I—I just—she did so much for me, and I couldn't help her at _all_ —”

“But that's not true,” you tell him. “That's not true at all, bro, listen to me.” 

He stills, watching you. Once you're sure you have his attention, you continue: “You were with her at the end, right? She knew you were there.”

“I was holding her hand,” Jake whispers.

“So she didn't go— _alone,_ ” you insist. “You were with her. That means a lot, dude, that she had someone who cared for her at the end. And just because she's not here doesn't mean you can't graduate,” you continue. “Actually, now it means you _have_ to. That you have to do better than that, even. Old Grandma English would never let you settle.”

He stares at you for a long minute. Then he looks down and swallows hard. His fingers push his glasses up over his forehead before he scrubs at his eyes with the heel of his hand, sniffing.

“You're right,” he says. The expression he gives you isn't a smile, but it's a step in the right direction. “Jumping Jehosephat, you're absolutely right. When you're right, you're right.”

“I get the gist,” you say dryly.

He snorts and steps towards you, and you give him a hug automatically. You're both kind of sweaty and your clothes are a day old, but he feels good against you. Solid and warm. His breath is soft against your ear as he says, “Hey, Strider?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks. For staying, and—everything.”

“Always,” you say, relaxing for the first time in days.

\--

A year and a half later, you watch Jake receive his diploma at your high school graduation ceremony. His head tilts up once he has it, and he shakes the placard a little at the sky. He catches your eye in the crowd and smiles at you—tearful, but bright.

 _Yeah,_ you think. _She saw it._


End file.
